What is the meaning of Christmas?

At this time of year, Christmas inevitably finds its way into the therapy room.

It comes up through grief and anticipation, through family reunions that are longed for or dreaded. It appears when couples are already in conflict and trying to work out how to be together during a time that is meant to bring closeness, but often does the opposite. It shows up when differences in expectations become harder to ignore, and when people find themselves wondering whether they should do less or more, whether they’re doing it right, whether they should feel more grateful, more joyful or be more connected than they actually do.

For those of us living in the Western world, Christmas is not something we can easily opt out of. We are thrown into a world where Christmas is a cultural reality, whether we celebrate it or not. It surrounds us for weeks, through music, films, advertising, public rituals, and social expectations. It is interwoven into our individual and collective unconscious, carrying with it memories, associations, longings, disappointments, and unspoken rules about how this time of year is meant to be lived.

This gives Christmas a particular weight. It is never just a few days off work or a social event in the calendar. It arrives already loaded with meaning, often before we have had the chance to reflect on whether that meaning still belongs to us.

We inherit Christmas. We are born into its traditions, expectations, and mythology of what it should be. For some, it is wrapped in childhood memories of warmth and belonging. For others, it carries family tension, loss, or a persistent sense of falling short of an idealised version that exists largely in films and advertising.

From an existential perspective, the picture is more complicated. Christmas does not arrive as a blank space onto which we calmly decide what to project. It belongs to the world we are already in, shaped by memory, culture, repetition, and early relationships. Long before we reflect on it, it has already found its way into how we feel, relate, and expect.

The question, then, is not whether we are free to give Christmas meaning, but how much of what we are living is still actively chosen, and how much is being carried forward without reflection. The existential work is less about inventing something new and more about noticing what we are already living with, and deciding how we want to stand in relation to it now. That process can feel effortful and at times disappointing, particularly when inherited meanings no longer fit the life we are actually living.

For all the noise around it, this season also brings a pause. Work slows or stops, routines loosen, and time feels slightly different for a few days. For some people, this is a relief, but for others, it is deeply unsettling. We often rely on the busyness of our daily structures to keep difficult feelings at bay. When things slow down, what is usually pushed aside has more space to show up. That might include tiredness, sadness, irritation, or a sense of absence. It might also include moments of ease that are harder to notice during the rest of the year. None of this means you are doing Christmas badly. It is simply what can happen when the usual structure softens and we are left a little more exposed to ourselves.

People often say that Christmas is what we make of it. In practice, that does not mean starting from scratch or forcing ourselves to feel a specific way. Most of us begin with a lot already in place. Still, within all of that history, there is room to decide how we engage. We can move from habit to choice. When we act purely out of habit, we are often sleepwalking, repeating patterns because they are familiar rather than because they are wanted. When we choose to engage, even if that choice is simply to cook a meal, or to cook something that is not traditionally Christmas, or to get a takeaway, or not cook at all, we move toward a more authentic way of being. We are acknowledging that while we cannot control the past or the cultural expectations, we can choose our attitude toward them in the present.

For some, this means keeping certain traditions because they still feel grounding or meaningful. For others, it means letting go of things that feel heavy or performative. Sometimes it is simply noticing that something is being done out of obligation, and allowing that to be a question rather than something to blindly push through. There is often pressure to fill the time, to see everyone, and to make it count, which can quickly become exhausting. Slowing down does not have to mean withdrawing or opting out entirely. It can be as simple as leaving some space unplanned, allowing days to be less productive, or not forcing yourself into a particular mood.

For couples, slowing down might mean letting go of the idea that Christmas needs to repair anything or stand in for connection that feels difficult at other times. Allowing it to be ordinary, unfinished, or imperfect can sometimes be more honest than trying to make it special at all costs.

This time of year often brings questions. What am I hoping for here? What do I need more of, or less of? What am I carrying that no longer feels like mine? These questions do not need immediate answers. Simply noticing them can be a way of taking yourself seriously. Christmas does not have to mean what it used to. It does not have to live up to an ideal or prove anything about your life or your relationships. It can be a moment in which you pay a little more attention to how you are living and how you are relating, without trying to draw conclusions or make plans.

For me, it took time to realise that how I want to spend this time is actually quite simple, though it felt radical at first. Since the pandemic, I have found myself moving toward smaller, quieter Christmases. My aim now is to take two weeks off, spend time with my adult children and my cats, read and leave the days completely empty of plans. It is a practice of taking the time as it comes, rather than trying to force it into a shape. Existing in that way of engaging with time, slower, more grounded, and simply being, is what the meaning of Christmas is for me.

The days will pass whether we reflect on them or not. What often stays with people is not what they did, but whether they felt present in their own lives while they were doing it. If Christmas offers anything, it may be this small opportunity to slow the pace and make a few choices more consciously.

If you are looking for small ways to practice this kind of conscious engagement over the break, here are a few invitations:

• Audit your "shoulds." Before the main events begin, notice one or two things you feel you must do. Ask yourself if this is an active choice you are willing to own, or a habit you are simply repeating. If you choose to go ahead with it, try to do so fully, acknowledging it as your decision rather than a burden imposed on you.

• Allow for the unfinished. There is often an urge to fix moments that feel awkward, quiet, or imperfect. Try to resist the impulse to smooth everything over. Allowing a day to be ordinary, rather than forcing it to be special, can sometimes clear the way for more honest connection.

• Reclaim your boundaries. A "yes" to an invitation only has value if you also feel free to say "no." If you are feeling overwhelmed, see if you can step back from just one commitment. It doesn't have to be a dramatic refusal; it can simply be a quiet recognition of your own limits.

• Make space for the pause. If difficult feelings surface when the busyness stops, try not to rush to distract yourself immediately. These moments, while uncomfortable, are often where we reconnect with ourselves. You do not need to solve these feelings; simply acknowledging them is a way of taking yourself seriously.